Fall Behind
by Lady Shockbox
Summary: Written for the 2011 TF2Chan Secret Santa. Medic and Soldier get into a serious accident on their way to Coldfront. Medic is badly injured, and without Respawn, Soldier is left to seriously reevaluate their situation. And time is running out. Oneshot.


My first Team Fortress 2 fanfic, written for the 2011 Secret Santa on TF2Chan.

To the original giftee (Greenstor): I tried really hard to make this Medic/Soldier. I really did. It came out feeling forced no matter how many times I wrote it, so I settled with this final version of the story and left it at that. I've never actually sat down and seriously tried to write Soldier before either, so forgive me if he comes across… wrong. I'll probably go back and rewrite this story later to focus on the pairing aspect, so I can give you the link to the updated fic if you don't totally hate this and want it.

Special thanks goes to my roommate, Beth, for watching winter survival videos with me, as well as UltimateEvilPerson, for getting me into this fandom to begin with and being my beta even though she was sick in the hospital. Love you, girls. Meanwhile, special thanks does NOT go to Skyrim, which I got from my dad on the last day of Hanukah. Seriously Skyrim, fuck you. Stop being so goddamn distracting. It's your fault that I sent this to Kilo on TF2Chan at seven fifteen on Christmas morning when I should have been sleeping, god damn it.

Constructive criticism is loved and always appreciated. I haven't written anything outside of my novel and original short stories for my creative writing courses for a long time, so I know I seriously need it.

* * *

><p><strong>Into the nothing, faded and weary<strong>

**I won't leave and let you fall behind**

**Live for the dying, heaven hear me**

**I know we can make it out alive**

_Into The Nothing_ – Breaking Benjamin

**i**

From the moment he saw the moose appear in the headlights of the ambulance, Soldier knew they were in deep trouble.

The most tragic part about the whole thing was that they were less than five miles out from RED's headquarters in Coldfront. Maybe if they had stopped back at that café ten minutes earlier and gotten something to eat like Medic suggested, they might have avoided the dumb cow altogether. They could have gotten to the base without a hitch: without having to endure what was arguably going to be one of the worst nights of their lives. The incoming blizzard that the radio stations were warning about certainly wouldn't help. Neither would the fact that they were traveling up the side of a mountain, next to a rickety old guardrail fence, leading down a steep cliff into pure darkness.

The last they heard from anyone, BLU had already arrived at their base via the train straight from Double Cross. That was four hours ago. Since RED actually had access to three separate vehicles, they left at different times depending on when it was most convenient for the driver. Sniper left first, early on in the morning, with Spy, Demoman, and Heavy. He mentioned something about wanting to get early to avoid driving in the dark. The sun would be setting earlier and the Australian didn't want to be stuck on the Alaskan mountain roads, at night, in a rickety camper with sometimes less than agreeable passengers. Heavy was pleasant enough, he said, but Spy was a horrible backseat driver and Demoman was… well, Demoman. Engineer left less than two hours later with Scout, Pyro, and Guard Dog loaded in his Chevy.

Soldier would have gone with them if the Texan hadn't convinced him to stay with Medic. Just barely.

"You aren't gonna make 'im go all by _himself_, are ya?" Engineer asked, looking up from packing a set of blueprints. That had been at seven twenty-three in the morning. It was still dark outside the window in his bare workshop, and the single, lonely street lamp beyond illuminated a flurry of falling rogue snowflakes. Engineer's truck was already outside just a little ways further. Scout was already nestled in the front of the truck fast asleep. Guard Dog was in the driver's seat, looking distinctly smug and drooling over the wheel, and Pyro was in the back spraying the air with hot blasts of his flamethrower for only God knew what reason. Engineer interrupted Soldier's train of thought as he turned away from his naked workbench with his last suitcase hefted under his arm. "Shoot, Sniper's already gone and I can't keep you in the back of my pickup for eight some odd hours going through Canada and Alaska. Besides, you and the doc oughta… I dunno, get to know each other better. Lord knows the two of you need to have a little heart-to-heart. You butt heads harder than two angry bulls painted red."

Soldier wasn't sure under what circumstances anyone would want to paint a bull red, but as long as there was an _ounce_ of hot American blood running through his veins, Soldier knew that his and Medic's ever getting along was never going to happen. Still, being in possession for a strong sense of self-preservation now that Respawn was shut down, he restrained the urge to argue and simply went on his way to finish packing. He didn't bother to see Engineer or the rest of the team off. As much as he disliked using his better half to listen to Engineer's voice of reason, he would rather prefer die on the battlefield than become a mercenary popsicle in the back of a rickety old pickup. If he _was_ going to die, it was going to be in a blaze of glory… but that didn't necessarily mean he had _to_ like being paired with the team's resident doctor. He had plenty of reasons to hold abhorrence to Medic as it was. Nazi's had a special place on his personal shit list. Especially after what he went through during the war.

The German's ambulance wasn't necessarily homey, but Soldier refused to sit in the front with him once they left. It was one thirty in the afternoon. Apparently Medic needed to stay on base for a few extra hours in order to make sure his birds safely arrived at the RED barracks in Coldfront. When they finally got around to leaving and Soldier made his way to sit in the back, Medic didn't complain. It was no secret that the German Medic disliked him, too. Soldier wouldn't have had it any other way. The majority of the drive went on in silence, with the exception of Medic asking him maybe once or twice if they should make a pit stop. Sniper even contacted them over the radio at one point to say that they had already arrived on base. The last they heard from anyone, it was when Engineer ended up with a flat and had to pull into some obscure gas station to hitch up the space, which was apparently concerning because Pyro being anywhere near fuel was a potentially dangerous safety hazard. That was three hours ago, and since then, the ride in the ambulance was made in silence. Even as the sun disappeared over the rising swell of the mountains while they crossed the border into Alaska and gained altitude, not a word was said.

The road wasn't even necessarily dangerous either, which, given the seriousness of the accident, was horribly ironic. It was definitely narrow and a bit sharp on some of the turns, yes, but as long as they drove slow, Soldier was sure they would be fine. They passed two salt-trucks earlier in the evening going the opposite direction down the mountain, too. For being Alaska in the early winter, the roads couldn't have been safer. If they had passed anymore salt trucks or cars in general though, Soldier wouldn't have known. He spent the majority of his time pretending to be asleep in the back corner of the ambulance. He didn't trust the man as far as he could throw his own team's Heavy.

It was dark out when the moose appeared in the headlights of the ambulance, but by then, it was already too late.

Moments before the crash, Soldier had stood up in the back to stretch his legs, interrupting his own pseudo sleep in order to keep his muscles from cramping up more than they already were. He had been going steadily stir crazy after being cooped in such a small space for nearly seven hours, and being stuck in such tight quarters with a man he publically disliked was not doing anything for his already frayed nerves. As he glanced toward the front of the ambulance, he caught sight of something outlined in the darkness and quickly approaching. At first Soldier thought it was another car parked on the shoulder, which was odd because the "shoulder" was just a wood railing separating the road from a sheer cliff face. He didn't need to have a revoked license to know that was a serious hazard, but it wasn't until Medic pulled further to the left to pass that Soldier realized that it was a moose, licking the salt off the road. The cow's fur was shaggy black in the darkness, and in spite of being female, she still managed to be larger than any buck Soldier had seen back home in Wisconsin.

The moose spooked without warning. She stumbled on her gangly legs, rearing high, pivoting into a full turn before suddenly leaping into the path into the ambulance without a hint of warning.

Medic didn't even have time to swear. He didn't have enough time to do anything, let alone swerve or slam on the brakes. Even years after it happened, Soldier could not find it in himself to blame the medic for what happened. Regardless, the impact was brutal, like driving straight into a wall of solid Australium. Soldier could see a flash of bone from the moose's shattered forelegs in the glare of the headlights before the huge cow came bouncing onto the hood and straight through the windshield. The ambulance was certainly sturdy, but there was absolutely no stopping the huge body from coming through the glass, sending a spray of glass and gore into the cabin, and crushing Medic against his own seat. Soldier shouted something but couldn't remember what. He was thrown backward against the back doors of the ambulance, smashing his head against the wall with enough force to audibly crack the back of his helmet. Lucky for him that he had been wearing it, being that that could have been his bare skull instead. He was sent sprawling onto the floor moments later, flat on his face and breaking his nose. His head spun and a thick, black fog clouded the corner of his spinning vision.

And then the ambulance finally did swerve, if only because the front tires popped and sent the vehicle deviating sharply the right. There was a shriek of metal, more shattering glass, and the sound of tearing flesh. Then there was a discomforting feeling rising in the pit of Soldier's stomach that he recognized right away as the sensation of free fall. The ambulance had run clear through the guardrail and over the cliff.

He didn't remember feeling the impact. One moment they were falling, and in the next, there was only darkness.

**ii**

Benjamin Williams woke up with a pounding headache and cold wind biting at his exposed face. For a minute he just laid there, dazed and stunned, blinking stupidly into the blizzard howling in front of his eyes at the mouth of the cave. Beyond at least ten feet, he couldn't see anything past the whiteout. When another gust of particularly harsh wind bit at his skin, he suddenly found himself back in Poland. Those long, paranoid winter nights hiding in the woods and tracking Nazi scum came back to bludgeon his brain with vengeance, and the American found himself scrambling into a crouched position least he be ambushed again. It took him a moment longer to finally register that he was, in fact, not in Poland. For that matter, he wasn't in a cave at all. He was looking out of the ajar, mangled back doors of Medic's ruined ambulance.

He remembered what happened. The drive, the moose, the cliff.

Fate was a stone cold bitch, he decided unceremoniously.

Repressing a groan Soldier strained to sit up and proceeded to skim down his emergency mental checklist. Was anything broken? His nose, definitely. He could feel the twisted mess of cartilage on his face, the flow of blood running down his lips and off his chin, but other than that and feeling sore, everything else felt fine. He'd have a fine assortment of bruises in the morning, though: that was for certain, at least. And if the sparkle of glass covering the floor or overpowering stench of blood and guts was evidence enough, Medic's ambulance had definitely seen its last drive.

And that was when he finally remembered Medic.

Soldier looked back over his shoulder to the front of the ambulance. Pain momentarily lanced up his neck midway through the motion, and the American veteran had to turn away and sit motionless for a few seconds before the pain subsided and his vision cleared. Trying again, this time slower, he was met with total carnage. Past the entryway separating the back of the wagon from the front, he could see the entire front of the ambulance spattered with dark stains of blood and chunks of already frozen meat rapidly being covered over with snow blowing in. Other than that, there was no sign of the moose they had hit. Finding it was hardly a priority. His eyes immediately sought out Medic. At first he couldn't find the other man, but then he was finally able to make out the German's limp hand and slack shoulder around the silhouette of the seat. He was not moving.

Much to his American's pride's chagrin, his immediate concern was that the doctor had been killed. His gut told him that he shouldn't have cared, that the world would be better off with one less rogue Nazi, but that didn't stop him from slowly migrating to the front of the ambulance anyways. He gingerly rose to his feet, cautious not to move too quickly in case his body decided to betray him, and once he was confident with his own estimate of strength, he attempted maneuvered across the uneven floor to the front. His legs shook, practically consistent with jelly, and Soldier only hardly caught himself with his palm against the wall to keep from bowling over. The ambulance groaned under his weight warningly. Soldier waited another few seconds before trying to continue on. When he finally did manage to maneuver into the space that bridged between the back of the ambulance and the cabin, he steeled himself for the worst.

Medic was breathing. His breath came out in faint bursts of ghostly heat through his slack mouth, his chest rising and falling painfully. In all seriousness, the man was incredibly lucky to even be alive at all. He had seen the moose come smashing right into him. Very few people survived collisions with moose on the road, let alone falling down a cliff afterward. His face was a bloody mess of red – whether or not the blood was his or the moose's was to still be determined, although Soldier was convinced it was a combination of the two – and a series of deep, ugly purple bruises were blooming across his jaw and up the entire left-hand side of his face. His nose was definitely broken too, that much was for sure. His glasses were gone and his eyes were closed, and his neck was limply thrown back so his head was angled up at the ceiling. The hand that wasn't dangling inertly at his side was weakly clutching his chest.

And his legs were pinned underneath the crushed dashboard.

Soldier had definitely seen worse conditions on the battlefield, back during his years in Poland and even while working for RED, but it wasn't by much. The first month he and the team had worked together, while they were stationed at Sawmill, the Scout had been leaping from building to building when the enemy Sniper managed an incredible shot and hit the Bostonian runner straight through the knee. Equilibrium ruined, the boy fell short of his mark flailing in pain and landed awkwardly on the roof of the run-down building closest to it. He went through the roof and had both legs sheared off after landing on a massive whirling saw blade. Soldier had been inside the mill clashing Shovel with BLU Soldier's mirroring entrenching tool, but even in the heat of the fight, he couldn't help but gape in horror at the sight until the other soldier managed to drive the spade of his weapon through his neck. When he woke up next in the resupply room, Scout was curled up on the floor with Engineer kneeling over him. They both shared glances and knew the runner wouldn't be participating in the rest of the battle. No one's first time through Respawn was necessarily a pleasant one: some of them were more hard hit than others.

But out here, there wasn't any Respawn at all. They had nothing.

Having his legs crushed might not have been a serious offense working for the Administrator, but out here, there was a very real chance that it was going to kill him. It looked as though his right leg had taken the most damage − from what he could see through the parts of the Medic's pants that were shredded, his flesh was hideously torn and mangled – and he was definitely trapped. Soldier wasn't an expert on medicine or a trained professional with a revoked license for removing some poor sap's skeleton, but he knew enough to stuff fourteen feet of his own intestines back into his stomach when exploding shrapnel gutted him in the war. Just as quickly as they had surfaced, Soldier shoved those nasty memories of Poland aside as he reached out and touched Medic's shoulder. The sound of his own voice made him inwardly flinch. Even with all his yelling and banshee battle crying on the job working for RED, he sounded pitifully hoarse. "Doc?"

Soldier hadn't expected an immediate response, but Medic whined almost right away. He had been conscious the entire time, just barely. "S-Soldat?"

Even though it was his own designation spoken in German, a language that Soldier previously decided that he hated with a passion, he was relieved to hear it. "Yeah, it's me. How long have you been awake, Kraut?"

"I don't know," the German answered, sounding decidedly unsure of himself. He sounded even worse than he did. Soldier was convinced now that he had a concussion too, although the level of severity wasn't something he knew he could accurately judge. "I don't really… remember what happened. Did ve hit somezhing?"

"A moose," he answered. His eyes traveled to the front of the ambulance, trying to focus on something other than his injured teammate. His injured teammate who would have been picked up by Respawn by now under normal circumstances. His eyes stopped at the radio, smashed almost entirely beyond recognition. The receiver was the only part that looked even moderately salvageable: the rest of the equipment looked like a mutilated level one sentry reject. A few of the dials were even missing, and it was with a new level of understanding that the gravity of their situation came bearing down onto Soldier's shoulders with a newfound weight.

They had no way to contact the others. They were alone. Just like Medic's legs, just like dogs stuck at the bottom of a shaft, they were trapped.

Medic whimpered, interrupting Soldier's thoughts. "I… cannot feel my leg. Zhe one on the right."

The one that was crushed. "Are you sure?"

The other man did not answer, and no matter how much Soldier convinced himself that he hated the sound of the German's voice, his silence was terrifying.

**iii**

Medic's ambulance was not an ambulance. Any ambulance with at least a shred of dignity would be a goldmine of medical supplies. Medic's ambulance had absolutely nothing.

"Don't be an idiot," Shovel said with a huff. She had kept her silence for a huge leg of the trip already, and this was the first time she had spoken to him in hours. "The idiot medic doesn't use this piece of shit unless the team carpools into town, remember? Why should he keep medical supplies in here?"

"Quiet," Soldier said, struggling around the side of the smashed ambulance.

Soldier only had two suitcases with him in the back of the ambulance. Medic had no luggage, seeing as he sent everything he had along with his birds through a separate shipping company. According to him, there wouldn't have been enough room for them all and his medical supplies. Soldier's only two suitcases contained two extra jackets and Shovel, who looked to be a little more useful for venturing outside the ambulance than the additional clothing. The wind was buffeting him back and forth on his still unsteady legs, but he managed to stay standing by using the side of the trashed vehicle for leverage. The damage done from the fall was even more evident outside despite the blinding weather conditions and cover of darkness. The paint was scraped raw, shreds of metal plating were stern around the accumulating snow here and there… and if there was any chance of salvaging something that wasn't completely destroyed from the accident, it was the tire chains Engineer installed the night before they left Double Cross. When Soldier managed to make it to the front of the ruined ambulance, he gave the set on the shredded tire closest to him a firm tug. They came away with barely a hint of resistance. Soldier set them down in the snow, reevaluated the rate of snowfall, and decided it best to them over his shoulder instead. Better that he not misplace them, lest they could still come in handy. The back doors of the ambulance definitely wouldn't stay shut if he tried to close them, so he could use the chains to rig them shut instead.

"As if that's going to save you and the doctor," Shovel murmured almost condescendingly. "If this storm doesn't let up soon, short term answers will only get you so far. You're not completely injured, are you? Leave the medic and get on your way. You and I survived Poland, didn't we? We can survive here too. Just walk away."

The thought was tempting. Soldier immediately froze that train of thought almost as soon as it struck him, though. "I am an AMERICAN soldier, sister. We do not simply abandon our teammates."

"He's a German," she said, exasperated. "A Kraut. A Nazi. One of those 6,578 monsters you and I destroyed during the war back in Poland. Why not make that 6,579? We wouldn't even need to kill him ourselves. The storm can have him. He could just freeze and be done with it. And who knows? The Administrator can just send a replacement. Someone who isn't a filthy German."

The entire front of the ambulance was smashed, crushed from the weight of the moose they originally hit. If – WHEN, Soldier had to remind himself − they got out of this mess, Engineer was going to have a field day trying to fix this hunk of junk. Either that, or Pyro and Demoman were going to have a blast destroying the rest of it. Since Medic was still trapped in the front seat, trying to move him was going to be absolutely useless. Between the German being pinned and the smashed window allowing freezing air to pummel his exposed skin, he was either going to freeze to death very quickly succumb to frostbite. Without the comfort of Respawn or the knowledge that they were eventually going to be rescued, Soldier knew he had to delay the onset of hypothermia as long as possible. Trying to tear apart the interior of the ambulance to find insulation proved useless: the damn piece of junk barely had anything other than a few strips of thin foam, which wouldn't do shit to cover the entirely of the broken windshield. His second idea had been to try tearing off the hood of the ambulance and using it as a shield across the windshield instead. His logic was that it would be so badly damaged that it would come clear off, but what he failed to take into consideration was that the damn thing would be stuck. The weight of the moose and the force of the impact had caused the hood to wedge itself impossibly down. No matter how hard he pried, he couldn't get it to budge.

"You're ignoring me," Shovel said softly, almost accusingly, sounding betrayed, as if she had been personally offended. "You've never ignored me before."

"Because I don't like what you're saying, sister," he growled, giving the hood one more hard tug. Pain rushed up his neck again and his vision fogged. When it came back, he was leaning over the hood, chest heaving. Maybe he had hurt himself more than he originally thought. "He is a member of the RED team, and even IF he is a filthy German scumbag, I am NOT going to let him die out here. WE are going to survive. All of us."

"You certainly weren't feeling that way this morning," Shovel sniffed. Had she been human, she might have been holding her nose in the air. Soldier imagined her to be a cold brunette, wearing a black dress and bright bloody lipstick. A good looking woman for sure, but with a chuck of ice where her heart should have been. She had changed quite a bit since the war. She was meaner nowadays and it was plainly showing… even if she was right. "If Medic so much as tried to use you for one of his medical experiments like he does with the Russian, you would have killed him without a second thought. You probably would have used me to do it, too. Now you do have a chance to get rid of him. You're just too much of a coward to−"

She suddenly fell into silence in his hand as he gripped her handle particularly hard. "Do. NOT. Call me a coward."

She said nothing. For the first time in a long time, Soldier found himself genuinely angry with her. If she was a woman, be dammed, he would have smacked her something fierce.

It was only when he turned away to survey the rest of their surroundings that he found the moose. She was barely visible above the snow drift billowing on top of her corpse, tinting the white a pale red. Soldier found himself drawn closer to her against his own accord. As much of a mess the dumb brute had made of the ambulance and Medic, she had definitely gotten the worst of all of them. Her legs were a barely recognizable mess of meat and jagged bone, and entire chunks of flesh had been taken out of her body from the force of the impact and less forgiving course down the mountain. Her head was attached to her twisted neck only by a few wires of muscly tendons. Her eyes were wide and fearful, a mirror of what she had probably felt in death.

Soldier kicked her in the face, slipped, fell, struggled to his feet, and kicked her in the face again. That first time, he imagined he was kicking Shovel. The second, third, fourth, and fifth time, he was kicking himself. Over and over and over.

**iv**

There was only one option left.

There were risks, obviously. Either Medic was going to bleed to death or he was simply going to die of shock, and even if he did survive − even if they hunkered down through the rest of the storm long enough for any of their teammates to find them − there was a possibility that Respawn wasn't going to repair the damage. Their data cards for the Respawn machine were updated every time they relocated to a new base, and unless their previous cards hadn't been destroyed to update the current state of their bodies by some sheer miracle of dumb luck, Medic was going to be a cripple for the rest of his life. Then there was the problem of the method Soldier was going to have to utilize. Medic didn't even have the luxury of antiseptic, pain killers, or medical tools with the exception of a small surgical flashlight that Soldier found in a small floor cupboard, and that didn't have any batteries. All he had was Shovel and a flash of Scrumpy Demoman had given him in passing a week ago that he hung onto.

At least Shovel's blade was sharp enough. It wasn't ideal, but she was going to have to do.

"At least you'll enjoy it," she murmured quietly, barely audible over the howl of the storm outside. The wind that caressed the carcass of the ambulance caused the metal all around them to creak. "Better the Nazi than the Engineer or Scout."

"Shut up." It was the first time he recalled ever saying that to her.

After sweeping out as much snow and broken glass as he could, Soldier made sure the doors were secured tight with the snow chains he gathered. He would go back and try to wrestle the rest of them off the mangled tires later if he needed to. For now, the back of the ambulance was at least free of a cold draft. Before going up to the front, he made sure everything was all set. One of his spare jackets was laid flat on the ground for makeshift bedding. The thin insulation foam was torn into strips and ready to be fastened into a tourniquet at a moment's notice. Shovel was at the ready in one hand and the flask was ready in the other. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.

Heart pounding, he maneuvered to the front of the ambulance. "Medic?"

At first, Soldier thought he wasn't breathing. Medic was lying very still and even worse looking than he had last gathered the nerve to see him. The wind and snow blowing in from the ruined windshield had taken its toll: the German was pale and looking bluer than what was healthy. The bruises on his skin seemed almost darker now, more like deep ink spots of black than purple brown, and with his heart leaping into his throat, Soldier reached his hand out and shook the German's shoulder harder than what might have been absolutely necessary. Medic's head shook back and forth as he was manhandled and he groaned. He was still alive, and for the first time since he was trapped, he opened his eyes. They were glassy in the darkness. Unfocused. "Soldier?"

"We need to cut you out of that seat, Fritz," he said grimly. He tried to keep his face neutral, but there was no stopping the foul grimace that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You'll freeze if we don't."

Soldier didn't want to have to explain, hoping Medic would understand what he meant himself. For a while Medic didn't answer, and Soldier was momentarily afraid that he was going to have to be more specific, but then the German finally turned his head to look at him. He looked remarkably younger without his glasses, even past all the bruises and blood. His expression was remarkably calm. "You cannot get me out of this seat unless you take off my trapped leg."

Soldier felt his gut heave painfully. His throat felt constricted. "Do you have a better idea?"

"No," Medic said, oddly surreal sounding. "I don't."

"I have some of Tavish's Scrumpy," Soldier offered.

"Weakling," Shovel suddenly hissed, so softly that Soldier thought he only imagined it. It was only when she vibrated in his hands that he realized that she had spoken, and right then and there, he almost took her and snapped her in two.

Medic was still looking at him with those glassy eyes. Finally, after another long drought of silence, he nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Take zhe leg," Medic said. "So long as RED keeps our old Respawn cards, ve should be fine. I can get my leg back later."

Medic extended his palm to him. The gloved hand was bloody: whether or not it was his own blood or the moose's was something Soldier didn't want to think about just then. Soldier handed him the flask and Medic immediately reached up a shaky hand to unscrew the lid and proceed to drain its contents.

"You sure okay with this, Kraut?" Soldier asked.

"Ve don't have any other choice," Medic said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself. He lowered the flask and leaned his head back against the headrest of his seat, exhaling a shaky breath. His breath billowed in front of his face in the cold air. He was distinctly shivering too, although Soldier guessed that it was more out of terror than actual cold. In fact, it was the first time he had even seen the man visibly shaken. "Just… give me a moment, herr."

Soldier did. Pain was certainly not new to either of them. Neither was dealing amputations in Soldier's case, but all the times he did manage to sever someone's arm or leg, it had been in doing so while attacking the BLUs. Those injuries were never permanent anyways, and even during his time in Poland, Soldier had taken quite a few Nazi heads with Shovel alone. Except he wasn't fighting for money or for his life right now. Right now he was going to amputate a teammates leg in order to save his life. The psychological impact was a little more personal. He was about to sever a teammates leg using only a MannCo entrenching tool and Scrumpy. For what it was worth, he would give Medic all the time he needed. Even if just to help Soldier prepare himself, too. The German's breathing was shallow and rasping. It must have been a whole minute before the doctor managed to calm himself down long enough to take another long, last swig from the small flask. He handed it back to Soldier once he was finished. It was empty. "A-alright. Do it."

Soldier exhaled the long breath he realized he had been holding. Shovel hummed in his hands as he lifted her up and aimed her spade at the junction where Medic's bloody leg met the collapsed dashboard. The ripped flesh around the crushed area looked frozen and ugly, like a mass of black puss and meaty strips rather than part of a human being's leg. Shovel shivered in the suspended air with poorly restrained excitement as he struggled to gauge exactly where he needed to strike… before bringing her down with all the strength he had.

All the time he spent sharpening her spade paid off, and in the worst way possible. She struck bone almost right away, tearing through the Medic's pants leg and swiftly slicing through skin and muscle like a cleaver. There was a harsh squick as the blade tore through flesh and sent new blood furiously welling from the wound. Medic jerked in the seat, tossing his head back, arching, and opening his mouth wide in a silent scream. It wasn't until Soldier jerked Shovel back up and brought her down again that Medic finally found his voice. Soldier tuned him out as best he could and hefted Shovel up once more, bringing her down a third time. He was a little off the mark this time, but he could feel through Shovel's quaking handle how he struck bone.

After the fourth and fifth strikes, as soon as Shovel stopped hitting bone and deftly passed through seat cushioning, Soldier tossed her aside – much to her cardigan, as she gave a shout of displeasure – and hooked his arms around Medic and pulled. The German's other leg wasn't pinned and he came out of the seat with ease. Blood soaked the seat and spurted across the dashboard in huge spurts of red. He dragged the man into the back of the ambulance, easing him onto the jacket he laid out, and immediately set to work securing the tourniquet around the stump.

He didn't want to think about the severed leg under the crushed dashboard. He didn't want to think about what he had just used Shovel to do. He didn't want to think about the storm or the moose or Poland or anything.

Medic howled. The storm answered him in earnest and swallowed his screams.

**v**

The tourniquet had served its purpose and stifled the bleeding, but Medic had still lost a great deal of blood.

Soldier had tossed his original jacket and the second space across the man in an attempt to keep him warm, but even though he was out of cabin no longer taking the brunt of the storm, he was still bad off. Soldier's worries about shock certainly couldn't have been far off. Worse still was the threat of hypothermia. There was no doubt that it had already started to settle, while he was trapped in the front, but between the blood loss and overall stress, Soldier didn't doubt that it wouldn't be setting in faster. He could feel it in his own bones, too. He realized he stopped shivering once he settled down next to Medic after fixing the tourniquet, and for the greater part of the next half hour, the American spent his time trying to force himself to shiver. Shivering meant that his body was making an effort to stay warm. Not shivering meant that his own body was giving up.

Shovel had called him a weakling. He refused to let her words affect him. He was not a weakling.

"Believe what you want to, but that doesn't change the truth," she said bitterly. Over the wind, her voice was barely a buzz in the back of his brain. From her place tossed somewhere in the front of the ambulance, Soldier imagined she was laughing at him. "Compassion is for the weak. The weak minded and the weak bodied. You're pathetic. Kill the Medic and prove me otherwise, Ben."

"Fuck you," he snarled suddenly, feeling anger rising up in him, licking at his insides like fire. "Is that ALL you care about? Killing people? You're not the same Shovel I used to know."

"You said you hated Medic, and here you are trying to save him," she said again. No matter how faraway she sounded, her words struck chords in his gut that he didn't even know were there. "You're not the same Benjamin I used to know."

"Too bad," he said. "Benjamin died a long time ago."

That was the last time he knew he was ever going to speak to her, and for the first time in nearly a decade, Soldier found himself pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes to suppress the angry moisture trying to spill. For all those years she had been his friend, and for what? He kept her around for so long just to have her turn her back on him? Soldier wasn't sure who he was more upset with: her or himself.

It was a little while later when he calmed down that Soldier noticed something about Medic's gloved hand closest to him. The German was lying down next to him, long since unconscious from pain and blood loss, with the arm closest to Soldier poking out from underneath the jackets he was using as blankets. Soldier was about to shove the offensive arm back underneath the covers if not for what he saw. At first Soldier thought it was a bruise running up the length of the medic's arm, but it wasn't until he pulled off the glove that he realized it was a tattoo. It was simple enough, a combination of two letters and three numbers in fading blue black ink, but Soldier didn't dare try to make the exact combination out. He knew a concentration camp tattoo when he saw one.

He left Medic in the back of the ambulance. He struggled up into the front, ensuring to take Shovel with him, and crawled out through windshield. After hurling the entrenching tool as far as he could into the woods, he stood in the snow and screamed.

**vi**

"I vas never a Nazi," Medic muttered quietly once he woke up. He was almost completely inaudible over the roar of the storm.

It was the first he had spoken since losing his leg an hour ago. Or maybe it was two. Soldier stopped trying to keep track of time in fear of driving himself insane, or at least more insane than he guessed he already was. After attempting to pile snow around the ambulance with his bare hands as a means of creating an igloo, he retired to the inside to rest. If he broke out into a sweat now, he would just freeze faster. It wasn't because he was getting tired, or too cold, or feeling too hopeless. Still, Medic's sudden words surprised him. He jolted back to awareness, momentarily horrified that he had almost fallen asleep, before jerking his head down the direction of the German man. "I know."

Medic's eyes were closed, but his face was clenched painfully. Furious moisture had developed in his tear ducts. "Zhey broke into our home. Zhey murdered my lover, dragged me away to Auschwitz−"

"Doc−"

"And that damn pink triangle." The tears finally came now, spilling down either side of his face. His shoulders shook in a silent sob. He started saying something else, but it was so garbled by blubbering and thick German that Soldier couldn't hope to translate it.

Medic continued to cry for a long time until he fell unconscious again. Soldier heaved his upper body into his lap and held onto him. "Hang in there, Medic."

**vii**

"Doc? Wake up."

Medic groaned but otherwise said nothing.

The storm had not lessened in intensity as Soldier originally hoped it would. Instead, it had gone from bad to worse. The wind had definitely picked up during the past hour but the soldier hadn't been able to find his feet to go outside and check for himself. He had to conserve as much heat as possible, now. Going outside in this hell would only hasten how much warmth he was already loosing. He was exhausted. He honestly didn't feel cold anymore either, and that was more horrifying than having to cut Medic out of the front seat. He wasn't afraid of dying by any means – for his job at RED, it was practically a requirement not to be afraid of it – but he didn't want to die out here in the middle of nowhere.

When the Medic did not give him a response, he cranked his head down to look at the German. Even in the darkness, he could see how ghostly Medic was. His lips were blue and dark shadows had developed beneath his eyes. His bruises were black and swelling. He didn't look very much inclined to still be alive, let alone find time to talk. Frowning deeply, Soldier shook the other man again, harder than last time. "Doc? Medic."

"Hmm?"

Soldier felt his eyes wandering starting to wander to the tied off stump where the doctor's leg used to be. He forced himself not to look. "Damn it, do NOT this to me Kraut. We are going to get out of this ALIVE. Do you HEAR ME, Fritz? Dying is NOT allowed."

"You fell asleep too," the German murmured, accusing. "A little while ago."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

And that scared Soldier more than he wanted to admit. He stopped and tried to think back. Had he fallen asleep? "That doesn't matter. Do you want to live?"

"I don't know anymore," Medic said, sounding like he had admitted to some kind of crime. "I'm too tired to care."

"Stay awake," he said. "Just a little while longer."

"Then you have to stay avake, too," Medic said.

Soldier honestly had to wonder whether or not he could keep his own promise.

**viii**

When he was a child, before child services removed him from his mother and placed him with his uncle who fought in WWI, Soldier had a dog. A stupid Golden Retriever named Doug. He belonged to his grandmother originally, but once she passed away, the bouncy, dumb mutt somehow found his way into his and his mother's life. Delilah hated him, but Ben loved the dog more than anything. So when the neighbors got drunk one night while aimlessly shooting a twelve gauge shotgun in the woods and mistook Doug for a coyote, Soldier was heartbroken.

"Did you ever have a dog?" Soldier asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was lying beside Medic now, sprawled on his side and totally unable to move. He never remembered lying down, but once he realized he was down, he couldn't will himself to get back up. He was too warm and comfortable to do anything anymore.

Medic didn't answer for a very long time. "In Stuttgart, Luka and I had a Leonberger puppy. Her name vas Leoni. Zhey killed her after zhey shot Luka."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Nein. It is fine. I can see zhem soon enough."

"Don't say that," he whispered. It was as loud as he could force his voice to go. "Hang in there, Kraut. A little longer."

Medic said nothing.

Soldier wasn't sure exactly what a Leonberger was, but he imagined that it was bigger than Doug. Dog was a wimpy dog for a Golden Retriever. His coat was never quite as luxurious as the other two Golden Retrievers that lived in the same trailer park. He was scrawny too. Still, Soldier's fondest memory of him had to be whenever he got home from school. First and second grade at Blackwater Elementary were hard, especially when his mother forgot to bring him and Soldier had to walk those five miles to the school. Doug would always follow him and even stay lingering outside the building during school hours. When Soldier got out, Doug would practically escort him home. He gave the best sloppy kisses too.

Doug had been dead almost forty years now. Either way, delusional from the cold or no, Soldier was coherent enough to know that the dog licking his face now was certainly not Doug. A paw pressed down on his shoulder. The licking stopped and the dog whined.

"Guard Dog?" he wheezed.

The German Shepherd gave a loud bark directly in his ear. The last thing Soldier remembered before blacking out was the sight of bobbing flashlight beams and the shouts of all too familiar teammates.

**ix**

The next time he woke up, Spy was looming over him in the left-hand corner of his peripheral vision. Opposite of him was Sniper. Both men, although usually indifferent or stoic toward their teammates, appeared uncharacteristically concerned. Spy was dressed down in a vest and button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and Sniper wore only his red shirt, completely missing his aviators and hat.

Soldier sat up so quickly that both men leapt back in surprise. "YOU TWO are out of uniform and unprepared for today's BATTLE! You will report to the wash racks and suit up IMMEDIATELY before my American boot kicks your asses STRAIGHT back to−"

Spy made a sour face, suddenly looking much more like his usual self. "Oh please. Lie back down before you do something else stupid to nearly get yourself killed."

And that was when Soldier's memory jumpstarted inside his brain again. He froze, taking in his surroundings. He was inside a smallish room, sitting on a bed dressed in his pants and an undershirt. His helmet was on the bedside table closest to Sniper. The only window in the room was frosted with ice.

He was in Coldfront.

He was in Coldfront, and he was alive.

"Where's Medic?" he snapped instantly, trying futilely to force himself to relax. "Is he alright, too? You will answer me NOW, privates!"

Spy snorted and looked at Sniper, decidedly smug looking. "Qui, 'e is going to be just fine, mon ami. I do not understand what you were so worried about."

"No need to yell, mate. We're bloody sittin' right in front of you," Sniper said, completely ignoring Spy. This was much to the Frenchman's obvious irritation, as he made a particularly sour face while Sniper continued to ignore him. "Yeah, mate. You just about saved Medic's life out there. Any later and the two of you would've frozen for sure."

"And Respawn would not 'ave picked you up," Spy snapped irritably, jutting back into the conversation. "As bad as you are, I do not think I could 'andle a replacements. The two of you are enough of a hassle as it stands. I am terrified to imagine what your substitutes would have been like."

Soldier lay back down, feeling suddenly very tired. At least it was better than the kind of tired he felt toward the end of his experience in the ambulance. It was relieving, just a little. "I had to cut off of Medic's leg."

"We noticed," Spy said flatly.

Sniper elbowed him sharply in the ribs. As the Frenchman doubled over and broke into an intense coughing fit from the unexpected blow, the Australian took the opportunity to attempt repairing the morbid conversation. "You saved his life, though. Truckie was tellin' me about the damage the ambulance took. If it weren't for you cutting him out of the front like that, he would have frozen to death."

"Solly? You awake?" Engineer poked his head into the room. The hardhat was gone and his goggles were pulled onto his forehead.

"Yeah," he answered.

Engineer came in, grinning from ear to ear. Soldier was usually always glad to see him, but right now, the man was practically a godsend. "Glad to see you're alive, partner. You and Medic gave us quite a scare. We honestly thought we were going to lose you boys."

"How did you find us?"

"We figured something was wrong when you stopped answering the radio," Engineer said. "We went back out a few hours after we got here and you still hadn't shown up. The blizzard was so bad that we would have driven straight right past where Medic's ambulance went through the fence if Guard Dog hadn't started throwing a fit in my truck. He was practically bounding down the side of the mountain once we stopped and opened the door."

Soldier nodded. "And Medic?"

No one said anything.

Soldier shot back up into a sitting position. "What about Medic?"

"He lost his leg," Engineer said.

"I know that. I was the one who took it off, Engie."

"No, I mean he lost it for good," Engineer said again. "He died a little while after we got 'im back to base. The Respawn card updated when he passed through missing a leg. He ain't ever gettin' it back."

Soldier felt his heart sink. "Oh."

Engineer smiled. It was not necessarily a happy look: there was a definite sadness in there. "Yeah, partner. I'm working on a mechanical one right now, though. Medic is okay, otherwise. You better take it easy for a day or two. Lord knows you boys need the rest after that whole mess."

Spy, Sniper, and Engineer left after that, leaving Soldier alone. He closed the shade and went to sleep willingly, but it was uneasy. They were alive, and for now, that was all that mattered.

**x**

It was a week later before Soldier saw Medic again.

The Administrator had canceled battles for a week, postponing the war between RED and BLU. Whether it was because of what happened with him and Medic or some other reason, it was not his problem. He spent most of his time recuperating in his room, although it was more for the sake of his mentality than his physical health. Physically he was fine. His brain still felt definitely muddled, though. Shovel's absence might have played a part in that. Part of him wanted to go back to the site to look for her but another, much larger part didn't. He didn't need her calling him weak. She could go to hell for all he was concerned.

When Scout came by his room and told him that Medic wanted to see him though, he was practically out the door before the runner even finished delivering his message. When the soldier got down to the infirmary, the smell distinct smell of bird feed and antiseptic hit his nose before he was even halfway through the door. Several doves instantly scattered in a flurry of white feathers and flapping wings as they took to the high rafters of the operating theater. He knew already that Medic kept birds, although his original understanding of just how many that meant was overwhelming inaccurate. More than a dozen or so were staring down at him from the teases, cocking their heads curiously and cooing to one another at the intrusion. He imagined that he looked as funny to them as they did to him.

The next thing he noticed was Heavy and Guard Dog. The large Russian was sitting in a chair far too small for him on the opposite end of the room with the German Shepherd nestled comfortably at his feet. The dog lifted his head at Soldier's approach and gave a single, low woof before promptly laying back down and falling asleep. At this point, Heavy finally noticed him and waved him over.

"Doktor is in other room," he said. "Is trying to fit on new leg by himself."

"The prosthetic?"

Heavy nodded. "Da. Engineer was good comrade and made Doktor replacement. For one lost. Wanted to try put on alone without Engineer or my help."

Soldier, for the first time in a very long time, found he had nothing to say. For a while, both men slipped into an uncomfortable silence: Soldier leaning against the wall, Heavy sitting compressed in that tiny sitting chair. The only sound came from the doves cooing in the support beams above them and Guard Dog's heavy snoring.

"Thank you," Heavy said suddenly.

Soldier snorted. "For what?"

"Saving Doktor." Heavy did not turn his head to him he spoke, but his face contorted into an intense look of concentration. He lifted his huge hands and made an inarticulate gesture. "Cannot find good words in English. Am very grateful. He is good friend."

"I'm the reason he needed a new leg."

"Does not matter," Heavy said. This time he did turn his head to look Soldier in the face, and in the bright sunlight, his eyes held an intense electric shade to them. They were very blue. "You save Doktor's life, even though you act like you do not like him. For that, you are credit to team."

That was when the door to the other room opened, and Medic finally stepped out into the light of the infirmary. Guard Dog decided to immediately spring out of his sleep to lift his head and start thumping his tail happily at the new arrival, regardless of the black and grey colored contraption that now served as the doctor's new prosthetic. Soldier found himself snapping to attention in a similar manner as Guard Dog, jerking up a little in his seat and instantly finding his sight trained on the mechanical leg. It was a lot like Engineer's Gunslinger, somehow able to automatically pick up on the neurological activity in the medic's leg to move accordingly, and even having a lot of the same details. A pressure gauge rested close to the junction of his knee and the pistons hissed and popped whenever he moved.

Medic saw him right away but immediately averted his gaze to Heavy. "Vell? Vhat do you think?"

The burly Russian hummed. "Is different. Strange, but will get used to. Not bad."

"In that case, you can go," he said. "I vill meet with you later. Soldier did not go through Respawn after the accident and I vould like to look him over, bitte. Ve can play chess later in the lounge."

Heavy left with a nod, taking Guard Dog with him. When they were gone, Medic absently waved in Soldier's direction. He continued to avoid making eye contact. "Sit on the table and take off your shirt."

The mechanical leg clanked noisily as the German strode across the floor to the counter, shooing away several nosy doves with an errant wave of his hand. Soldier found that he could only stare. One of the braver ones took a daring peck at the German and fluttered up simply to land hastily on his shoulder, and when Medic turned around again, Soldier realized that he hadn't done as the German said yet. Almost without realizing it, he stripped his shirt and sat on the examination table, propping his forearms lazily on his knees. Once upon a time, this process would have been downright painful. In fact, Soldier couldn't even remember the last time he had willingly gone to the doctor.

Medic shrugged. He was holding a stethoscope and clipboard. "The Engineer vas kind enough to build a prosthetic. Don't vorry. It vorks fine."

"I know," Soldier said. "He told me."

Medic raised an eyebrow. "You're being awfully quiet. Are you feeling alright?"

No. No he wasn't, but he was never going to admit it. Soldier kept his silence as Medic looked him over, feeling along his back with the stethoscope before turning away and jotting something down on the clipboard. "Are you?"

"You have a guilty conscience," the German said absently, completely dodging the question. No, Medic wasn't okay either. He could pretend all he wanted to, but in the end, they were both equally messed up. Maybe that wasn't all that bad, though. Bird of a feather could flock together, right?

"You don't just chop off a man's leg without feeling something," Soldier snapped, suddenly feeling a little more irritable. "That wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my night, in case you were wondering."

"You had to stuff your own intestines back into your stomach during zhe war. Ve kill people on a daily basis."

Soldier opened his mouth to snap back, but his jaw clenched and closed before he could say anything. Because, in truth, he honestly had nothing to say.

"So you would have felt remorse if I died."

"I would have."

"You never would have admitted that a week ago."

"Well now I have. What else do you want from me, Kraut?"

Medic said nothing and turned back to the nearest counter, picking up a sphygmomanometer before coming back over to the examination table. "Nothzing. I just need to take your blood pressure and zhat vill be all. Hold out your arm, bitte."

Soldier did as he was asked again, offering a bicep for the doctor to fix the cuff on. He idly took the air bulb and started to pump it, and Soldier watched as the dial jerked to life and gradually turned clockwise inside its housing. As the cuff inflated and its hold became tighter, Soldier abruptly became aware of another source of pressure on his arm. Just beneath grip the cuff, Medic's gloved hand was squeezing his forearm a little harder than what was probably necessary. The German's face never gave away anything, but the hand distinctly trembled.

"You never take off your gloves," he said.

Medic's voice was deceptively firm. "No, I don't. And I trust you von't tell anyone vhat is underneath zhe one on zhe right."

"I'm sorry."

Medic finally angled his head to look at him, and for the first time since the incident in the ambulance, their eyes met. He looked older having his glasses back, and the focused look in his stare gave him an even older edge. It was with a start that Soldier came to the realization of how alike they really were. Medic wasn't nearly as insane, but they had their fair share of internal demons.

"I wish you said something." Soldier pulled his shirt back on and reached for his jacket. "I… said some pretty nasty things to you, doc. About you being a Nazi."

Medic sighed. "I don't want to talk about it. It's in zhe past now, ja? Ve can forget about it."

Soldier grinned. "Sure thing, Fritz. Once we get off for the week and the roads are plowed, you and I are going to hit the nearest bar."

"Urgh. Don't say zhat. After ve are relocated, I never vant to see snow again."

Soldier grinned. "Fine. Next time we're relocated, then. I know a great place in Teufort. Moriarty's Place. A lot of his stuff is imported, so we could probably find some German brand. That crap isn't nearly as good as AMERICAN beer, but I don't hold it against you if you're too much of a sissy to handle my country's outstanding liquor."

Medic grinned. "I vill hold you to that."

And they were going to be okay, Soldier thought. They were going to be just fine.

**fin**


End file.
